


Novocaine

by YesterDarling



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Physical Abuse, Punk England (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesterDarling/pseuds/YesterDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music is Arthur's one way of expressing himself. It allows him to show the emotions he never talks about. And then, he meets Francis. Handsome, kind (and hella hot) Francis. And his heart feels like it's going to overflow. He thinks that he can't feel anything after all these years, but what Arthur doesn't realize the only thing numbing him is himself. Inspired by Novocaine by Fall Out Boy, as well as other various songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While My Guitar Gently Weeps

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look! Another actual multi-chapter work!
> 
> I will be making a playlist to go with this; one song for every chapter. The playlist is still WIP, as I am still writing. The playlist will be updated with each chapter.
> 
> Playlist so far:  
> 1- While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles

Everything in Arthur's life was wrong.

His family was all wrong. His father had always been a drunkard, and it had only gotten worse when his mum had finally divorced the bastard. Granted, he would spend every other week with his mum, but the weeks in between were filled with bruises and red marks.

He and his siblings had made a pact to never let mum know about this. They all knew it would break her heart. 

But as the Kirkland siblings got to be older, things worsened for them. Owen had moved out to live with his girlfriend, Wes, and Allistor had gotten a scholarship to play rugby at a university. Which meant that the beatings that they usually got in their father's drunken stupor were now dealt to the youngest three; the twins, Niamh and Liam... And Arthur, of course.

None of this left their lives without impact. Owen had been left with a defensive instinct; if hit even on accident, he'd lash out out of fear. Allistor had become more emotionless on the outside; like a shell. A gruff, toughened-up shell of himself. Liam, the former prankster and trickster, began to get quieter, pulling less and less pranks. Niamh... Well, Niamh had run off and was now living with Owen. "It's not a suitable place fer a girl ta' live," she had said, leaving her twin and Arthur.

 _Yeah, right,_ Arthur had thought. _You're far tougher than I am._

But the outside world refused to see him as weak.

He had one person outside of the family who understood him; Alfred Jones. Arthur thought of him as another brother. One he could actually talk to about the problems at home. It had been Alfred who had been more of a brother than his nuclear brothers.

Then, one summer, Alfred had introduced him to Aerosmith and Eagles. To the Beastie Boys. Fall Out Boy. Bon Jovi.

To rock music.

And no one action goes without a result. All of this had changed Arthur from the person he used to be as he did his own musical exploration, finding both classic and punk rock songs to be his true passion. 

As his beloved Beatles CDs made room on his desk for The Clash and The Sex Pistols, Polo shirts and khakis turned to band tee-shirts and torn skinny jeans. His ears were pieced, as well as his (thick) eyebrows. Eyelids swirled with heavy black eyeliner and eyeshadow, and the long blonde fringe that fell across his forehead was now a lurid shade of neon green. 

In the corner, leaning against his bookcase, was his pride and joy: a red Fender Squier, which he probably loved more than any person. He had even spent extra money on a pick board with the Union Flag on it. The instrument allowed him to convey his deepest emotions in a way stronger than words alone. 

Picking it up and holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world (for to him, it was), he sat down on his bed. His hands flew over the strings as he sang softly; he wasn't plugged into the amp since his father was home.

"I look at you all, see the world and it's turning...  
While my guitar gently weeps.  
For ev'ry mistake we must surely be learning...  
Still, my guitar gently weeps."

"Nice song. The Beatles, right?"

Arthur looked up in shock, the look on his face fading upon seeing Alfred climbing through the window.

"You know that you could knock first, you twit," Arthur huffed, leaning against his headboard and closing his eyes.

"What, and risk other people hearing me? No way, man." The American grinned, sitting near the foot of the bed.

"What do you want, then?"

"I dunno; to say hello to my closest friend?"

"Spill."

"Jeez, man," Alfred stood up, giving a mock sigh. Arthur groaned in annoyance. "I had some news for you." He walked over to the window. "I guess that you don't want to hear about the band members I found us."

Arthur sat up quickly, interest piqued. "Band members?"

Alfred chuckled. "Well, I have your attention now."


	2. Come Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1- While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2- Come Together by The Beatles
> 
> (I promise this will not be only Beatles songs)
> 
> While reading, you may wonder why the track/chapter title is Come Together, but I included words from Under Pressure. Well, it's not so much about the lyrics I put in the chapter. It's about the tone I want to create. I wanted something that fits the idea of a bunch of out-of-place people meeting up, and Come Together reminds me of that.
> 
> The reason I used Under Pressure for Antonio's audition is purely because it has a good bassline.

They were a sorry bunch.

Arthur was being introduced to the bassist and drummer at Alfred's house; the American's family condoned the noise, and actually had the room to accommodate four musicians.

They already had a singer, and technically two guitarist; Arthur would sing, and both he and Alfred would play guitar. Though they already had enough for an act, they figured having a full band was better. 

And well... Alfred had found the rest of the band. 

Antonio Carriedo (called Toni) would serve as their bassist. He seemed almost too cheery for a rock band; his smile was essentially plastered to his face, and his eyes shone with excitement. At least his hair looked the part; the dark brown locks were disheveled and displaced.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, on the other hand, looked like a drummer. He clearly had albinism, as his snow white skin, silver hair, and red eyes clearly showed. Eyeliner made his eyes look even more haunting. He smiled all the time like Toni, but it was more of a smirk. And his personality...

"Kesesese!" The German (or Prussian, as he claimed to be) laughed. "You sure are lucky Alfred found me! Your band would fail without zhe awesome me!"

"Will you just shut the fuck up?" Arthur growled in annoyance. "You don't even bloody know you're in the band."

"Oh, ja? How many other drummers do you know?"

"Well... Oh, shut it!" He glared at Gilbert. "If you want in, prove your fucking worth."

"Fine!" Gilbert went back to assembling his drum kit. "Just give me a minute!"

 _Cynical twat,_ Arthur thought. 

"Alright... Carriedo, you show us what you've got, then." He had to throw his guitar pick at the Spaniard to draw his attention away from his and Alfred's conversation.

"Huh? You mean me, amigo?" Toni asked.

"No, I meant the Spaniard next to you," came the sarcastic reply. "Get your arse over here and plug in!"

"Si..." Toni said, then turning to Alfred. "He's a real dick, my friend."

"Don't worry about it," Al said, brushing the comment aside. "He's always like this with people he doesn't know. Part of his whole punkie thing."

The Brit rolled his eyes at Alfred's comment as Antonio plugged his bass into the amp. "What do you want me to play?"

"Anything, so long as it's good."

Antonio nodded as he thought, then began to pluck out a bassline: Under Pressure by Queen. Arthur couldn't help humming along to the tune.

_It's the terror of knowing_  
_What this world is about_  
_Watching some good friends_  
_Screaming, "Let me out!"_  
_Tomorrow gets me higher_  
_Pressure on people - people on streets_

He glanced at Alfred, who was grinning at him. "Not bad, huh?"

Arthur nodded. "He's good. Definitely a keeper." Toni grinned.

"What about me?!" Gilbert whined.

"It depends on if you can play or not," Alfred said, cutting off the string of curses that would have inevitably come from Arthur's mouth. He picked up his guitar and played, giving Gil something to work with. "Give me a beat."

Arthur groaned as he noted the song; American Idiot by Green Day. How appropriate. Still, he didn't let Alfred's song choice get in the way of his judgement of Gil's playing, and he couldn't deny the drummer's skill; he kept near perfect time, and the rhythm fit well. 

Smirking, Gilbert stopped playing. "I already know your answer; the awesome me accepts your offer." 

Arthur rolled his eyes at the egocentric. "Yeah, what-bloody-ever. Anyroad, it's official. We have a band now."

Alfred cheered, and the two new members smiled. "Dude! I have so many great name ideas! Like 'Little Green Men', or 'Supernova', or-!"

"Let me cut you off there," Arthur said. "This is a rock band, not outer-space techno. It has to fit the genre."

"I agree..." Toni said, thinking. "Black Roses? ... Wait, that's too gothic."

"Anti-clockwise? Tarnished Honor?" Arthur suggested.

"Dude," Alfred snorted. "Who names a band after something a clock does?"

"Fuck you!" Arthur grimaced, punching Al's arm.

"Anarchist?"

They all looked over to Gilbert. "What did you say?"

"Anarchist. Pretty awesome, ja?" The Prussian grinned.

"That's not bad... Anarchist!" Alfred said with a smile.

Arthur asked, "All in favor?" They all raised their hands. "Good." 

They sat down to figure out the details over crisps a two-liter bottle of coke. They would practice thrice a week at Gilbert's house (as drums are hard to move around), and would put up fliers when they felt they were good enough. Antonio was in charge of making tee shirts, and Alfred would make fliers when the time came.

For the first time in years, Arthur felt at ease. Music was his life and passion, and now he could share it with the world. Or at least three other people. Finally, he could let out all his pain, anger, and sorrow in a way that wouldn't raise suspicion. 

Through song. No one ever questioned the lyrics of a song. And if they did, they often brushed aside the thought, thinking _it's just a song._

To him, it was so much more, but the world wouldn't ever have to know.

He felt he was complete with the band.

Or so he thought.

The sound of a car horn pulled them all from their thoughts. "Ah, there's our ride!" Antonio said. "Gil, start packing your stuff up!" The two of them began to disassemble the drum kit, and they all went outside to put the kit in the car.

Arthur thought that everything had come together in the past couple of hours.

And then, he made eye contact with a brilliant pair of violet-blue eyes.

And they shattered his world.


	3. My Songs Know what you did in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1- While my Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2- Come Together by The Beatles  
> 3- My Songs Know what you did in the Dark (light em up) by Fall Out Boy
> 
> The song relates mostly to the second part of the chapter, with Arthur's father.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Liam belongs to Shadzu on Tumblr; not me. She allowed me to RP as him. I hope that it's alright that I wrote with him in this.

He thought he had seen something in the other blonde's eyes. Just for a second, he thought that he saw a glimmer of something, but it was gone now. 

That didn't mean that his eyes were no longer breathtaking.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the cheery spaniard. Ugh; why did the moment have to be ruined? "Arthur, this is our amigo, Francis."

"Salut," the (evident) Frenchman said with what Arthur thought of as a charming smile. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Er... Same to you, I guess," Arthur replied in his standard, standoffish manor. Francis' smile didn't waver the way that the look on the face of others would. He seemed like a genuinely nice person.

The Frenchman picked up the steely frame of Gilbert's drum kit. "Well, I had best get the rest of the gang home... I will be seeing you again."

"Yeah, sure... See you, then." The Brit left the trio to pack up, walking past Alfred as the trio drove off. Al had a grin plastered on his face. "What the fuck are you looking at?" Arthur asked him.

"Dude," Alfred said with a slight smirk. "You like him."

"Shut up." He hid the faint blush that was forming across his face.

"Love at first sight, much?"

"Alfred, I swear, I will take a guitar to that face of yours."

The American's booming laugh echoed through the garage. "Nah, you won't. C'mon; let's play some video games."

~x~X~x~

The time until their first practice was unbearable. Finally having a purpose to fulfill, Arthur had actually been looking forward to it; he was working on a set list and the whole nine yards. 

There was another thing that caused him to be more anxious. Their practice was on Saturday. After a few hours of playing and singing his heart out, he would meet with Liam and head to their mum's house. For a week, his life would be right-side-up once again. He couldn't wait.

Of course, nothing is that simple in life. Saturday morning started with his father banging on the door of his room. "Get up, you lazy cunt!"

_It's only 8 o'clock,_ Arthur thought to himself. _Not like it's noon._ "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled as he got up and pulled on a black tee shirt and ratty, red-plaid pants. After somewhat taming his messy blonde-and-green hair and swiping black eyeliner and eyeshadow over his face, he emerged, giving a sideways glance as Liam as he walked by. His brother gave him the same look as the two of them went to the kitchen, passing by their father, who had fallen asleep on the couch right after waking them up.

"Should we make him breakfast?" Liam asked, the years he had spent in a school in Ireland evident in his accent.

"No fucking way," Arthur muttered, in a rather bad mood. "If he doesn't get food, it should be his fault. No way in hell I'm helping that bastard out." Liam shrugged, getting out enough toast for two people.

Breakfast was better than normal; the toast wasn't nearly as burnt as usual. Gesturing for his older brother to keep quiet, he went to get his bag of clothes and CDs, guitar, and picks. Once he was out today, he wanted to stay out. Liam seemed to have the same idea, gathering his own bag. With the drunkard still being asleep, the two of them silently snuck to the back door. 

Well, they tried to, at least. They didn't notice that the monster was watching them. 

"What the hell do you think yer doing?!" Their father yelled, clearly pissed in both meanings of the word.

"Nowhere," Liam muttered. 

"We're headed out," Arthur grimaced. He wasn't about to put up with this bullshit on what was supposed to be a good day. "Do you have a bloody problem with that?" A slight hopeful look was in both his and Liam's eyes as their father's eyes widened, his drunken mind processing the reply.

"G-get yer arse back in here!" He grabbed them both harshly by the wrist, slamming the door. 

In a matter of mere seconds, the belt was out, lashing against already bruised skin, simply adding more abrasions to the collection. Across Liam's back. Against Arthur's arm; the arm he used to play. The leather marred the skin with red marks that would later fade to purple and black bruises. 

The belt struck across his left knuckles, and Arthur did his best to keep silent, though he wanted to scream at his old man for potentially ruining his playing. He could hear Liam whining in pain.

"Out!" The drunkard screamed. "Get out!" The boys scurried to grab their things and make a mad dash put the door, panting as they finally made it a few blocks away. 

"Well... He's in a good mood..." Liam quipped sarcastically. 

Arthur remained silent, trying to relieve the pain in his left hand. He wouldn't be able to play chords as well if his left hand hurt! "Fucking bastard..." He finally muttered.

"Le's go to the drug store," his brother muttered. "I don't know about you, but I need some pain killers."

~x~X~x~

"Mein Gott," Gilbert remarked when the Kirklands showed up at practice at 12 o'clock. "What the hell happened to your hand?"

"I tripped on my amp," he lied, tuning his guitar. Alfred gave him a look, as if saying that they needed to talk after practice. He began setting up as Liam sat down to watch. He did a double take, trying not to stare at the other 'audience member'. 

Francis looked back at him. The look in his eyes was a mix of confusion and what Arthur thought was an attempt to reassure. He dismissed the thought; why would someone he barely knew try to reassure him.

Antonio began to strum a riff as he waited, and Gilbert tapped impatiently.

"What?" Arthur asked defensively.

"We all came here to play, dude!" Alfred said. "So let's play!"

Gilbert nodded, and Antonio asked, "What do you have for us, amigo?"

A look of determination hiding his pain, Arthur forced a slight smile. "Here's what I have so far..."

As they worked on songs, both classic, punk, and modern, the Brit soon got his groove back. Though he couldn't play guitar due to his hand, he was still singing along confidently to Fall Out Boy, occasionally glancing to see if a certain Frenchman was paying attention. 

Not that he cared, of course.

"My songs know what you did in the dark..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the reasoning behind Arthur's injuries:
> 
> I am actually a violinist/major instrument nerd. And I play a little bit of guitar, but mainly violin. 
> 
> To play both instruments, you need both hands: one to bow/strum with (right hand) and one to finger out the notes (left hand). The reason I had one of Arthur's lashes go across his left hand was because of the fact that it's really REALLY hard to play notes with a hurt hand. I sprained my left wrist, and couldn't play violin for like, a month. So I figured that if his father hit him there, Arthur's anger would be fueled.


	4. Somewhere Only We Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1-While My Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2-Come Together by The Beatles  
> 3-My Songs Know what you Did in the Dark by Fall Out Boy  
> 4-Somewhere Only We Know by Keane
> 
> Ugh! Writers block! It took me forever to write this.
> 
> The song mainly relates to the scene with Arthur's mother, as her house is where he truly feels at peace. And to me, that's what the song is about.

They really didn't need a ride to their mum's house.

Arthur was completely fine with walking, as was Liam. But apparently, Francis would have none of that.

"It is on my way home, and I have to drop Toni off anyway," he insisted. Grumbling as he packed up his guitar, Arthur accepted.

The ride was awkward. Though the Spaniard and Frenchman talked happily, the Kirklands sat in total silence. The van was littered not only with sheet music and cds, but plumbing supplies that rattled around through every turn and bump. 

"Well," Toni finally said as they pulled up to his driveway, "I'll see you all on Tuesday. Adios, amigos!" He took his bass from the back of the van and headed into his house, waving and effectively leaving the Kirklands and Francis alone.

"So," Francis said, turning to face Arthur. "Which way." The Brit gave him the proper directions. Noticing a pile of cds near his feet, he began to flip through them.

"Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish..." He muttered as he flipped through them. "Hell-o, what's this?" He held up a yellow album with four oddly-clad men. "Magical Mystery Tour. Beatles fan, are we?"

The frenchman laughed. "I suppose you could say that. I particularly like All You Need is Love." Of course he did; that one began with La Marseilles. "But," Francis continued, "The rest of them are not half bad."

"Well, at least you have some good tastes. They had some pretty psychedelic songs, they did."

"Oui. I thought that you were just a heavy metal person."

Arthur scoffed, and Liam groaned. "Here we go again..." He said, making a pillow out of his hoodie. "Wake me up when he's done ranting." 

"Metal is not the same as punk rock! Punk rock is far better!" He huffed. "At least rock music has actual words, not just screaming."

"Je suis desole," Francis chuckled. "Didn't know you were that caring about it."

"You'd be too, if you were in a band."

A silence followed, and Arthur averted his eyes to glance out his window. "This is her house," he finally said. "Thanks."

Liam grabbed his bags and exited the van after saying a quick ta, but Arthur sat for a minute more before taking his duffel in one hand and reaching for his guitar case, which was resting against the front seat, in the other.

Soft, gentle hands brushed over his as he gripped the handle, and he recoiled slightly. Glancing up, he saw Francis' eyes scanning over the contusion that lay across his knuckles, which had turned an ugly shade of purple.

"How does one fall in such a way that it hurts you here?"

The brit pulled his hand–and the case–away quickly, then exiting the vehicle and walking up his mother's driveway.

~x~X~x~

Everything felt better as soon as he walked through the door. Though it had only been one week since he had been with his mum, it felt like ages. And, he knew that though it would be a week, it would feel like only a moment had passed before he had to leave his mother's house–his safe haven.

Their mum accepted them and loved them. She would laugh along with Liam's pranks, and she would listen to Arthur's music, smiling as she remembered her own taste in music from when she was growing up. He knew some of her favorites were mixed into his playlist. She fed into their pet passions, accepting them for who they were.

Upon their arrival, she had made the two of them dinner, asking how each of their weeks were. She listened happily to the news about the band, as well as Liam's latest achievements. They told their white lies, leaving out the parts in which they were at home with their father. That would be more drama than it would be worth, in their eyes. 

"Both of you are so thin," their mother chided. "Go on and eat."

"We're fine, mum," Liam promised, Arthur nodding in agreement. They were used to this.

She made a face, accepting (but not satisfied) with the answer. "Well, alright... Arthur, love, could you please do the dishes?" He nodded, taking the plates to the kitchen, taking off his leather bracelets before turning the faucet on. As he doused the dishes in soap, he heard laughter coming from the other room. 

All was right in the world.

~x~X~x~ 

Arthur grimaced as he heard his alarm blaring at him. God, did he hate Mondays. Still, better than the Mondays spent at his father's. He turned it off, dragging himself out of bed and raking his fingers through his mop of hair. After getting dressed and making himself look somewhat presentable, he walked past Liam's bed out of the room.

7:30. He still had time. He tossed some bread in the toaster and made some tea. One wouldn't think a punk would like tea, but this clearly wasn't the case with Arthur. Everyone in the UK drank tea, and he was no exception. 

As he spread butter onto the slightly blackened bread, Liam stumbled into the kitchen. "'Mornin..." Arthur nodded in response as the redhead searched for the coffee pot. 

Despite being at their mother's house, they ate in silence.

7:50. They headed out early this morning. Clouds were, as usual, in the sky as they made their way to school. They had a bit more than a half hour before class, so the two of them waited outside the school building, Arthur using his finger exerciser to try and work through the pain in his left hand. He wanted to be able to play again before Tuesday's practice. 

"Well," He heard a cheery voice boom. "I never took you to be a morning person." 

"Piss off," he told Gil, shoving the exerciser back into his bag. "My alarm went off early."

"Right."

"What are you even doing here?" He questioned. 

"Francis and his sister usually come early, so I dragged Carriedo off his ass to get here." From behind the Prussian, Toni gave a tired wave.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Francis came to school early, as well? _Not that I care_ , he told himself. Absentmindedly, he tried to tame his hair.

"Good morning," said a soft, sweet voice. Gil grinned and turned around.

"Guten morgen, mein schatz!" The small blonde girl was pulled into a hug. "My girlfriend, Maddie," the Prussian explained. Maddie waved.

Francis walked up behind him, giving him a sharp elbow. "Don't get too carried away." His violet blue eyes seemed to have a smolder to them, as if a warning to treat the girl right.

"Ja, I know, Francey-Pants."

He smiled slightly. "And good morning, Toni. Kirklands."

"Morning," Arthur muttered as Antonio whined about how tired he was. 

"When are you planning your next practice?"

"Tomorrow, actually." The Brit gave a slight smirk. "Planning on stopping by?" He wasn't expecting an answer. 

"Oui."

He did a double take. "Pardon?"

"I said 'oui'. I have to drop Toni off, anyway. That is alright, right?" 

He nodded. "I... I guess I'll see you there, then." Francis smiled in response. 

The bell rang as the doors unlocked. As Arthur hurried inside, he started thinking about what he'd wear tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what a finger exerciser is, it's this thing you can get from most music stores. It has four button-like things attatched to springs. It works one up to pressing down on hard guitar strings.


	5. Strawberry Fields Forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1-While my Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2- Come Together by The Beatles  
> 3- My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark by Fall Out Boy  
> 4- Somewhere Only We Know by Keane  
> 5- Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles
> 
> FINALLY an update. Writer's block is a B-, and classes have been giving me more homework. 
> 
> I should probably update some other stories, too...
> 
> Anyway, the reasoning behind this song should be apparent. I think it fits well.

"Dude, spill. You've been acting weird all day."

Arthur groaned at Alfred's comment as he straightened his jacket. "I have no fucking idea what you mean."

"You aren't snapping at everyone, for starters. Plus, you freaking planned your outfit, didn't you?"

Out of the jackets he owned, he had chosen his denim to wear today. It wasn't nearly as nice as his leather one, but not as ratty as his cutoff. Casual. Instead of his normal black tee shirt, he wore one of a deep blue that contrasted his lurid green eyes. He wore skinny jeans—tasteful skinny jeans, mind you—that complimented his outfit and matched his combat boots.

No, he wasn't trying at all.

"I did not," he scoffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His guitar case was held in his right hand as he walked towards the gate of the school. They were to meet Gilbert and Antonio there for practice.

He didn't expect to see the plumbing van there. 

"Oi, you two!" Gilbert called from the shotgun seat. "Get in!" 

Alfred laughed, loading his six string and his school bag into the back. Arthur put his on the floor in front of him, sitting down. "Roomy for a plumbing van, isn't it?" He said, noticing this for the first time.

"Oui," Francis agreed from the front seat. "Mon peré outfitted a van for his plumbing work, so it is roomier than a regular plumbing van."

"So I see."

The frenchman smiled as he put a CD into the CD player. Alfred slammed the door as he sat next to Arthur. With some chatter and a few chords coming from the speaker, they were off. 

"Is your hand any better?" 

Arthur's head snapped up, his eyes meeting a reflection of Francis's in the rearview mirror. "Pardon?"

"Is your hand any better?" Francis repeated.

"Yeah." He glanced at the fading purple contusion across his knuckles. "It's fine now."

"C'est bon." 

For the rest of the ride, Arthur ignored the smirks coming from Alfred.

~x~X~x~

"Take a look at this," Arthur said as he handed out the manuscripts. Instead of regular tab and music from book, the Brit had improvised, taking parts from the sheets he liked and adding in his own parts. An arrangement.

"Across the Universe?" Gilbert spat."What the hell happened to Fall Out Boy?"

"We'll still work on it," The Brit countered. "But that one's simple; straightforward. This one's different. Look at those riffs."

Toni walked over to Alfred, peering over Al's shoulder. "Is that a power chord there...? Did you turn one of the calmest songs ever into... A... A rock ballad?"

"Piss off," he countered. "It's not like it hasn't been done before. Haven't you heard Scorpion's cover? It's like that, but with more intensity."

"Well... I guess that's okay..." Toni admitted.

"We'll work on it for next practice," Alfred said cheerily.

"So be it," the Brit muttered as he took out the other sheet music. "Which do you all want to do first, then? My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark? One Vision? It's my Life? Under Pressure?"

"Let's do Under Pressure!" Gilbert exclaimed, excitement shining in his eyes. "I like that one's beat!"

"Right. On my count, then."

~x~X~x~

For the second time in a row, he said he didn't need one.

For the second time in a row, Francis insisted upon giving him a ride home. 

"I'm giving Antonio a ride, anyway," he reasoned yet again, so the Brit shoved his things into the back seat and hopped in. 

"Some practice," Toni laughed as he got in. "You really know how to make us work, mi amigo."

"You don't get good at something without hard work," Arthur reasoned. The world was unfair; it was only due to effort that he had the life he did. In the same manor, it was only due to practice that he had become good at guitar.

"Yeah, that's true." The Spaniard hit play on the CD player, sending the notes of Strawberry Fields Forever into the air. Arthur tapped along.

After a few more songs, Toni was dropped off, leaving only Francis and Arthur in the van.

"Want to move to the front seat?" Francis asked. 

"I'm perfectly fine sitting back here," Arthur insisted, looking out the window.

"Well, alright..." He pulled away from the curb, driving towards Arthur's mother's house. "Your practice sounded c'est magnifiqie... Very good, that is to say."

"Thank you... It really wasn't that good, though..." How could it have been? He had to keep adjusting his tuning every ten minutes. What an annoyance...

"It was to me." Arthur looked at Francis, seeing the Frenchman smile at him in the rearview mirror's reflection. A beautiful, almost surreal smile. The words of Strawberry Fields echoed through his head. The whole thing felt very aesthetic, really.

_Get your head out of the clouds, Arthur._

He stayed silent for the rest of the ride, simply saying thank you as he exited the vehicle with his things.

"Who's your friend?" His mother asked as he walked in the door. He sighed, still gathering his thoughts from his daydreaming. The daydreams about Francis' smile he was certainly not having. 

_Nothing is real._ The words echoed again.

"No one, mum." He went to his room, face going red as he heard her say one more thing.

"He's a keeper."


	6. Need You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1-While my Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2- Come Together by The Beatles  
> 3- My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark by Fall Out Boy  
> 4- Somewhere Only We Know by Keane  
> 5- Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles  
> 6- Need You Now by Lady Antebellum
> 
> Oh, look, I'm back from the abyss! You guys get a long chapter, too!
> 
> For those who don't know: I reference a 7th chord in this chapter. A 7th chord is used to create tension; like "ahhh this chord is building tension! Play the next note already!"
> 
> So... Yeah. Enjoy!

Wednesday was usually a good day for Arthur. He slung his guitar case over his shoulder as he shoved the last of his toaster waffle into his mouth. "I'm leaving," he called, headed out the door.

"Have a good day, poppet," his mum called. She was most likely getting ready for her desk job. Even after all she had gone through, she was still the same person as she used to be. _Unlike me_ , Arthur thought.

He heard his brother's feet hit the pavement after he turned out onto the sidewalk. Cold, he pulled his coat tighter around himself. _God_ , he thought to himself. _I wish Francis had offered a ride to school..._

Not that he would have accepted, of course. The Frenchie had given him enough rides, and it wasn't like he wanted to see him.

One of those was a lie.

Turning on his MP3 player, the heavy bass of Sail rang in his ears; another song he was arranging. Dubstep was overrated; it needed a better arrangement.

A tap on his shoulder pulled him to reality. "Yo, Artie," Alfred said as the Brit yanked his headphones out. "I've been calling your name for like, five minutes."

"My name is Arthur," he insisted. "What do you want?"

"You didn't see my text? Dammit..." He flipped through the photos on his phone, showing one to Arthur.

"Open mic night. Next Wednesday." He thought about it. "Alright."

~x~X~x~

Thursday's practice should have gone smoothly. The arrangements sounded good, and they had gone over nearly half the setlist Arthur had been piecing together, from The Beatles to the Clash.

They should have gone smoothly. Violet eyes kept distracting him.

"Take five," he finally called after playing the wrong chord thrice. "I'm out of tune."

The rest of them groaned, annoyed. Arthur had called a break only ten minutes ago. "Make up your mind, dummkopf!" Gil shouted. The Brit flashed him a V-Sign, pretending to tune his guitar as he tried to calm his nerves, refusing to look up. 

_God Damn it! They're only eyes! You have them, too!_

But he knew: They were Francis' eyes. Deep pools the color of hyacinths, the flower that had portrayed forbidden love between two men in his beloved literature class. Pools filled with rich emotions and concern that he wished was for him.

_Shut up, brain._

"Alright," he muttered, rejoining the others. "Measure 29." Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward so his lips barely grazed the microphone. "With flowers and my love both never to come back."

~x~X~x~

Saturday after practice, things went straight down the crapper.

Chuckling at a joke Antonio had told, he carefully put his guitar in the back seat of Francis's van, sitting next to it. 

"Keep an eye on my bass, amigo," Antonio asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur replied, buckling his seatbelt. Though it had been a good day, he couldn't wait to just sleep as soon as he got home.

Oh, shit.

Over the course of two hours, he had forgotten it was Saturday. 

Biting his lip, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wouldn't be going back home to his mum's. He'd be going to his dad's. The hellish place he refused to even consider calling home. Oh, how he loathed it.

"Hang on a second," he muttered, getting out of the van. "Forgot something."

"Oui, we'll wait," Francis said. He really is kind, Arthur thought. He hurried inside, giving a quick apology to Alfred's mother, as he grabbed his bag of belongings and rushed back to the van, tossing it in and sitting down, a scowl on his face. 

"You okay there, Arthur?" Antonio asked.

"Just fantastic." He hoped that his tone would keep them from asking any more questions. Of course, Francis shot him a look of worry. Guilt rushed back to him, and he scowled at the window instead.

The ride to Antonio's house was long and quiet, the soft sounds of quiet music from the radio being the only noise. While my Guitar Gently Weeps. _How appropriate._ Out of the corner of his eye, he kept seeing Francis glance at him. He refused to acknowledge him.

Maybe it wouldn't be as bad. Maybe his father hadn't started drinking yet, and he was somewhat sober. That wouldn't be so bad; it's be slightly better than if he was drunk.

"Adios, amigos," Antonio said, drawing Arthur out of his thoughts. He watched as the Spaniard walked up the driveway to his home. He was jealous; he bet that Antonio had a caring family, unlike his broken one. Francis pulled away from the curb.

When it was only the two of them, it was all the more awkward; the only words exchanged was the address of Arthur's father's house. The silence was heavy, almost tangible, and begging to be broken, like the way a seventh chord felt. He wanted to break it, but he didn't.

"Thanks..." He finally said as Francis pulled up in front of his father's house. Grabbing his duffel bag and guitar, he began to exit the van.

"Attendez," Francis said, as if remembering a last-minute thing. He grabbed Arthur's wrist and took out a blue pen, scribbling on the Brit's hand. "My phone number," he explained. "If you need it."

"Yeah," Arthur muttered. "Uh, thanks..." Pulling his arm away, he made his way slowly up the walkway, avoiding the inevitable by just a few seconds. 

Upon entering, he rushed to his room and put everything down, breathing heavily. It didn't seem like anyone had paid enough attention to notice him...

Heavy footsteps told him that he had spoken too soon.

"Oi! Cunt!" His father's voice boomed as a loud banging came from the door. "Why're you home so late?!" Words slurred together. His old man was drunk.

"The bloody bus was late; calm down!" He shouted, lying. He didn't want him to know about his band. 

"That's no fucking excuse! Get your arse out here!"

"Why?" He asked, braver than he felt. He knew what came next. 

"Your bloody arse. Out here. Now!"

Hesitantly, Arthur opened his door, immediately receiving a box around the ears. 

"'The bus was late'? That's no fucking excuse!" Another punch landed him in the chest, and yet another to his face. Crimson blood dripped from his nose, trailing down his face.

"It isn't as though I have control of public transportation!" He screamed back. He knew his father was drunk, but seriously? 

Growling, his father socked him in the gut, thoroughly knocking the air out of him. "Be on time, you twat!" Arthur stumbled back into his room as the door slammed closed. Trying to catch his breath, he sat bruised and bloody, leaning against the baseboard of his bed.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Boy, was he wrong.

Looking to his hand, he saw Francis's smudged phone number. _Perhaps I should call... He said I could._ Images of the Frenchman flashed through his mind. He wished that he could just be with him. Francis was kind, and he would understand...

His eyes widened in disbelief of himself when he realized it.

"Fuck."

It was that night that he realized he liked Francis Bonnefoy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist so far:  
> 1-While my Guitar Gently Weeps by The Beatles  
> 2- Come Together by The Beatles  
> 3- My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark by Fall Out Boy  
> 4- Somewhere Only We Know by Keane  
> 5- Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles  
> 6- Need You Now by Lady Antebellum  
> 7- I'm Not in Love by 10CC
> 
> *eternal screaming writers block*
> 
> It's short. I'm so sorry. I covered everything I wanted to in this chapter, but it's still short.
> 
> Enjoy.

It was wrong, wasn't it? It was so very, very wrong. Granted, being a bender wasn't illegal or anything, but most people said it was wrong. It was supposed to be wrong. His mother, he knew, didn't care, but he was sure that his father would be against it. And life here was hard enough as is.

Yet when Arthur had realized his feelings, it felt as though something had clicked into place. All of those thoughts he had been trying to ignore suddenly were the only ones he could remember, and for once, he wasn't pushing them away, although he wanted to.

Sighing, he tossed his phone onto his bed, not wanting to even look at it. "Great job," he muttered, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the blood. "You've really forked yourself over, Arthur. Stuck in a broken life with no way out and a stupid crush you didn't realize you had... He'll probably hate you, too. He can do better."

He glanced at his phone. Looked away. Looked at the neat blue handwriting on his hand, subconsciously memorizing it. Francis did say that he could call if he needed to, yet he didn't want to. Not now. He'd be a burden. It would be awkward with what he had just found out. But at the same time, he wanted to get out. Get away from this God-forsaken house.

Sighing yet again and still pinching his nose, he walked over to his bed and picked up the phone with his free hand, dialing with shaking hands.

"Alfred? It's me. May I come over?"

~x~X~x~

He would have liked to say that life went back to normal.

But it didn't.

Two days later, he was still mostly silent, ignoring his surroundings. Leaving early for school and not walking with anyone.

Avoiding contact with Francis Bonnefoy at all costs.

He knew that he'd have to see the frenchman eventually, but evading him would give him more time to sort out his thoughts. Find a way to keep his heart off his sleeves. To keep the feelings away. It was easy, being a punk, to not talk to anyone, but not to keep him off his mind. Not to keep away the pain.

"Arthur. Hey, Artie." Dragging himself away from his thoughts, he turned to face Alfred, giving him a dark glare. "Are you gonna tell me what happened on Saturday?"

"What's it to you?" The Brit sneered, pushing away his lunch tray. "It isn't like it's your problem. I already spent the night at your place; been a burden enough. I'll deal with it myself."

"Oh, come on, Artie! We're like brothers! Besides, I bet you'll feel better if you tell someone. Please?"

He looked into the American's eyes, figuring that he wouldn't be left alone until he fessed up. His glare softened.

"You'd better not tell anyone," he sighed, giving in. "My dad got bladdered, like he does every night. Thought I was coming back from my mum's. Got mad at me for being late. It's really nothing special."

"Still not okay," Alfred muttered. "Doesn't he know you have practice?"

Arthur snorted. "As if I'd tell him I was in a band. He'd never let that slide. Already thinks the music I listen to is shit."

"Dunno, man. Might be better if he knew."

"I think I know what's best for me!" Arthur snapped.

He caught a glimpse of blonde and blue, looking up quickly. Instantly, he felt a bit better as he walked by, not seeming to have a care in the world. He looked nice today, too. Pristine blonde hair carefully tied back and out of his face with a blue ribbon. Some would say it looked feminine, but he thought it looked distinguished. Neat and orderly, unlike Arthur's unmanageable fringe. Happy, violet eyes. Not drab, plain green. And his smile; how Arthur envied it. Francis was well liked, handsome, and respected; not bitter and awkward like himself.

"What are you looking at?" Alfred asked, following his gaze. "Oh, man... You're totally checking out Francis, huh?"

"What?" The Brit defended. "No." _Even if I was, I wouldn't tell you._

"You totally were!" Alfred grinned. "Artie has a crush!"

"I do not."

"That's frikkin adorable! I knew it!"

"Shut it..."

"When's the wedding?"

"I said shut up!" He stood up, slamming his hands on the table. Alfred backed up slightly.A few people turned to look at him, evidently surprised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francis looking at him, as well, confusion and concern on his face. A light, embarrassed blush creeped onto his face.

"There's no way I'd fall for that insolent, frog-faced idiot," he lied, muttering it so that only Alfred could hear him.

"Dude, I..."

"Look..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry for yelling... But Alfred, don't you dare tell anyone about this."

Not daring to meet anyone's gaze, much less Alfred's or Francis's, he picked up his bag and left the cafeteria, wondering: How much longer can I keep this facade up?

~x~X~x~

The rest of school was dull and listless that day. He continued to talk to no one, and it seemed that rumor of what happened at lunch had spread, so it didn't appear that anyone wanted to talk to him. _Too worried I'll snap at them, as well._

He didn't wait for anyone to walk hime with, instead walking straight home. The Sex Pistols blared in his ears, blocking out the noise of the outside world. But in his head, he couldn't ignore the thoughts flitting around. _You need to quit making a fool out of yourself. Stop having these feelings. If you don't he's going to find out, and then he'll hate you. And it'll hurt._

That's true. If he felt nothing, he wouldn't get hurt.

No one else was home when he arrived there. Dad probably went out to get more booze, he thought to himself.

Booze.

Opening the refrigerator, he took a Newcastle. It wasn't like his father would notice. He was always too drunk; he'd probably think he drank it himself.

It wasn't something he usually did. But after the day he had, he needed something to let loose and calm down. Unceremoniously dropping his school bag on the ground, he opened the bottle of ale and took a swig before picking up his Squire. Leaned against his bed, setting down the bottle and sighing. Not thinking about any of his problems.

As he calmed down, the soft sounds of Jetpack Blues filled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone freaks out, he isn't going to get drunk. He only took one. Also, the law in the UK states that if you are over the age of 5, you may drink on your own property/private premises.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey there, lovelies! Just letting you all know that this version of the story will no longer be updated. There is a new version that I will be writing, and it is [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7859053/chapters/17945875) So, if you are still interested in this story, I urge you to check it out. The writing style should be a lot better.

Cheers!  
-YY


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